


Respect the Wind

by RocknVaughn



Category: Merlin (TV), Twister (1996)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/pseuds/RocknVaughn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an angsty retrospective from Merlin's point of view that covers what he (as the Jo Harding character) went through at the loss of his father to the tornado (as Jo does in the beginning of the movie).</p>
<p>However, this plays a little bit differently, as in this 'verse, there is Weather Magic.<br/>Still, I hope you will love this little stroll through poor little Merlin's memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respect the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks SO much to the lovely [Nightfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox) and [pensive_bodhisattva](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pensive_bodhisattva/pseuds/pensive_bodhisattva) for their amazing beta help and awesome cheerleading. 
> 
>  
> 
> I do plan on writing a sequel to this that covers the rest of what happened in the movie.

<><><>

It was a warm and humid day in April on the wide Oklahoma plains. An impressive thunderhead hovered low across a great expanse of desolate cornfields. Its stately and majestic caps glimmered gold in the afternoon sun, yet beneath it, an eerie shade of grey-green blotted out the horizon.

 Two lone figures stood on the deserted road, watching as a funnel formed and stretched its gossamer finger inexorably toward the earth.

 Balinor Emrys knelt down beside his son and pointed to it in the distance. “There…do you see it, Merlin?” he said reverently, clapping a hand to the boy’s shoulder.

 “Yeah…” five-year-old Merlin breathed, transfixed at the beauty of the wind storm’s dance.

 “It’ll touch down in just a moment,” Balinor predicted, nodding toward the funnel.

 “How do you know that?” Merlin asked, his gaze leaving the storm long enough to search his father’s face curiously.

 “I can feel it,” Balinor explained, “in here.” He patted at the center of his chest. With a tender smile, he moved his hand to rub the same spot on his son’s chest. “I’ll bet you can, too…like the flit of a butterfly inside of you?”

 Merlin had turned his attention back to the storm, his mouth gaping open in awe and his eyes transfixed. He nodded his assent distractedly.

 “…And,  _there_ ,” Balinor announced as suddenly a dust cloud appeared at the funnel’s base. “Do you feel the difference? How the flittering feels more like a whoosh now?”

 Again, Merlin nodded, but didn’t tear his eyes away from the pale tube of air swaying in time to a beat that the boy could somehow feel and understand. He raised a hand and laid it on top of his father’s over his heart. “But  _why_ can I feel it? Does everyone feel this way, Daddy?”

 “No, Merlin. Very, very few people can feel the storms the way we do.”

 “Why?”

 “Because we are Wind Mages,” Balinor explained patiently.

 “What’s a Wind Mage?”

 “You’ve heard of Weather Mages, haven’t you?” Balinor asked.

 Merlin nodded eagerly, turning his eyes to his father at last.

 “Well, Wind Mages are a very special kind of Weather Mage. All Weather Mages have some control over the more basic things like rain, but only Wind Mages can control storms like tornadoes and hurricanes.”

 Merlin pursed his lips thoughtfully, as if he were in serious contemplation of this information. Balinor bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to laugh.

 Finally, the little voice asked, “Could you make it stop, Daddy? Could you make it just go away?”

 “Merlin…” Balinor sighed, as this was a question that Merlin had asked before but was too young to truly understand the answer. Still, he tried.

 “Being a Wind Mage is a big responsibility, Son. Yes, people count on us to protect them and keep them safe. But that doesn’t mean that storms shouldn’t happen. They do good things as well as bad. They bring rains to the land that crops need to grow. They distribute seeds far and wide to allow flowers and trees to grow in new places. It moves around the earth, pulling fresh layers to the surface. If there were no storms, that could do more harm than good.”

 “But  _could you_?” Merlin insisted. “If you really wanted to?”

 Balinor held back a frustrated sigh. His son was nothing if not stubbornly persistent, although those weren’t necessarily bad traits for a fledgling Wind Mage to have. “Yes, powerful Wind Mages can with certain kinds of storms…but that should only be done as a last resort. It’s best not to disrupt the flow of nature. Instead of dissipating the storm, we normally use our power to  _steer_ it, to push it away from populated areas. Here, let me show you.”

Balinor pushed himself to a stand and wiped the road dust from the palms of his hands. Pointing toward a small cluster of scrub trees that was in the tornado’s current path, he said, “Let’s say that stand of trees was really a town. It would be our job to protect it by pushing the tornado away from it, like this…”

 With fingers splayed, Balinor raised his arm in the direction of the funnel cloud. He closed his eyes for a moment to center his power and then when he opened them again, his eyes blazed golden. He closed his hand in a grasping motion and moved it very slowly in the direction opposite the storm’s movement.

 Merlin’s cerulean eyes darted back and forth between his father’s glowing gaze and the tornado. They grew wider and wider as he watched the funnel cloud slow down, stop in place, and then gradually start moving in the direction of Balinor’s hand.

 Once the tornado had established a new path opposite its previous direction, Balinor slowly unclasped his fist, relinquishing his power over the storm. The glow receded from his eyes and they faded back to their original rich, chocolate brown.

 “Wow!” Merlin breathed excitedly. Immediately, he moved to copy Balinor’s wide-footed stance and threw up one small, slim, long-fingered hand. “I wanna try!”

 Amused by his son’s obvious enthusiasm, Balinor clasped Merlin’s outstretched hand in his own and slowly brought it back down to the boy’s side. “Next time, Son. We have interfered with the storm enough for today.”

 “Awww,” Merlin whined, stomping his foot on the dusty earth. “Why can’t I?”

 Balinor chuckled and ruffled Merlin’s hair affectionately. “Because of the first rule of being a Wind Mage.”

 “What rule is that?” Merlin pouted, his full bottom lip sticking out for emphasis.

 A ghost of a smile curled Balinor’s lips up at the corners. He laid a hand along the side of Merlin’s jaw and stroked his son’s cheek with his thumb before patting the side of his face softly. “Rule Number One is to always,  _always_ respect the wind.”

 

<><><> 

 

That fateful day had started out like many other late spring days in Tornado Alley: the heat was rising, the humidity was oppressive, and the sky was talking. The morning sun that poured in the windows was filtered through puffy white clouds that promised to steep into dark, brooding monsters by afternoon.

 Balinor and Hunith were just sitting down at the breakfast table when little Merlin, awoken by the aroma of eggs and bacon wafting up the stairs, came barreling into the room.

 “Daddy!” he cried as he launched himself into Balinor’s open arms.

 Balinor gave him a quick squeeze and then held one of Merlin’s hands above the boy’s head in order to spin him around in circles. “And how is my whirling dervish today?” he asked mirthfully. Merlin giggled more and more with each successive turn until he fell in a laughing heap on the floor in front of Balinor.

 Hunith smiled fondly and shook her head at the antics of her boys. “Now, Balinor…you don’t want to ruin Merlin’s appetite,” she warned.

 “What? You mean this little Tasmanian Devil?” Balinor teased, helping Merlin back to his feet. “Never!”

 "I’m a hungry monster,” Merlin declared with a solemn nod as he clambered up onto his seat. “Daddy said so!”

 Hunith scooped bacon and eggs onto her son’s plate with a soft chuckle. “Well, if your father says so, then I’m sure it  _must_ be true…”

 

<><><> 

 

It had been just after noon when the phone call came.

 Grim-faced, Balinor placed the telephone receiver back into its holder, not noticing as the cord spun around and around itself like a mini-tornado.

 A soft hand on his back pulled him back to the present. “What is it, dear?” asked Hunith.

 “That was Nimueh Greene from Weather Service HQ. She said that Director Pendragon has given Project Vortex the green light, effective immediately,” he answered with a frown.

 Hunith’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. “But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? For weather magic to be made legitimate at last?”

 Balinor paced the kitchen restlessly, stroking his beard in thought. “I thought it was. I really did. But…something doesn’t feel right. I just wish I could put my finger on what…”

 Hunith stepped into Balinor’s path and placed a steadying hand on each upper arm. “Perhaps you’re just nervous.”

 A fond harrumph was followed by a chuckle. Balinor pecked his wife on the cheek and said, “Ah dear, you know me too well.”

 “It’ll be fine,” Hunith assured him with the soft smile that never failed to melt Balinor’s heart. “You’ll see.” She squeezed his hand and went back to cooking lunch.

 Balinor couldn’t bear to tell Hunith that he just couldn’t shake the feeling of wild panic that had been steadily growing since he’d gotten up that morning. Instinctively he knew that something big was coming; something huge and awful and wild…and he didn’t know if he was powerful enough to stop it.

 

<><><> 

 

 

“I’m sorry, Merlin, but you’re going to have to stay at home with your mother today.” Balinor reached out and stilled his son’s movement as Merlin tried to hastily stuff his arms inside of his jacket and almost tripped.

 Merlin finally got his right arm through the sleeve with the help of his father’s holding the jacket’s collar in place. “But Daddy, you pwomised!” Angry tears clung to Merlin’s long, dark lashes, threatening to coat his flushed cheeks with salty wetness at any moment.

 “I know I did, Son. But I wasn’t expecting the next storm to be as big as this one. It’s too dangerous to take you with me.”

 Merlin tilted his head up to the sky, taking in the clouds overhead, dark and menacing, heavy with rain. “But I could help you!” he insisted.

 Merlin crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly and locked and unlocked his knees, barely controlling his escalating anger. In the distance, a clap of thunder could be heard.

 He gave his father his sternest look. “And you don’t go back on pwomises, Daddy. That’s not nice.”

 “I’m sorry, Merlin,” Balinor said, cupping his son’s cheek with one palm, rubbing his thumb against Merlin’s wet lower lashes. “I know you’re disappointed. Next time, all right?”

 “No!” Merlin jerked his head away from his father’s touch and stomped his foot against the gravel of their driveway. “Not all right! You pwomised, Daddy! You pwomised to take me!”

 Thunder rumbled across the plain, louder and closer than before.

 Balinor’s mouth flattened to a thin line of frustration. “I’ve given you my answer. I can’t be worrying about you while trying to control a storm this violent, Merlin. I understand you want to help, but you wouldn’t know how because you’re not trained yet.”

 He gripped Merlin’s chin and used just enough pressure to force his stubborn son to make eye contact with him. “Now…I want you to stay here and protect your mother. Can you do that for me?”

 Just as Merlin’s tears succumbed to gravity and started sliding down his cheeks, the heavens opened up above them, the rain pounding down upon them in a deluge of surprisingly cold water.

 Balinor pulled the hood of his rain slicker up over his head with one hand and pushed at Merlin’s back to usher his son under the relative safety of the porch roof with the other. “Be a good boy, Merlin. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

 Then, he turned and sprinted toward the shelter of his truck, assuming his son would have the sense to stay dry and out of the elements.

 But Balinor didn’t count on the magnitude of Merlin’s stubbornness. He hopped off the porch, landing in an already formed puddle that splashed muddy water up into his eyes. He took another two steps before he tripped over one sodden trouser leg and fell, landing hard on hands and knees. His tears mingling with the rain, Merlin put one hand out toward his father’s truck and yelled, “No!” at the top of his lungs as if he could stop his father with just the force of his will. An earsplitting clap of thunder swallowed his cry.

 His father didn’t stop. With his back to Merlin, Balinor wrenched open the door to the truck, scrambled inside and shut the door again. He turned the key in the ignition and studied the rapidly darkening sky with a frown, not noticing through the pouring rain that his frantic son was giving chase across the yard.

 Merlin had scrambled back to his feet, but before he could make another run for his father, the truck was already pulling out of the drive. “No, no, no!” Merlin screamed at it as another deafening crack sounded above him. “You pwomised! You  _pwomised_!”

 Merlin didn’t understand that the pounding of the rain and the booming of the thunder had clouded him from view and drowned out his voice. He only knew that he was being left behind, and he couldn’t stand it.

 As the rain quickly hid his father’s truck from view, Merlin bellowed out in a fit of juvenile disappointment and anger, “I hate you, Daddy. I hate you!” A flash of fierce lightning and the boom of crashing thunder were the only answers to his call.

 And then Merlin lifted his rain-soaked face to the sky and screamed.

 

<><><> 

 

Hunith’s hair stood on end at the almost inhuman roar that rent the air and the immediate bright white flash of lightning striking so close to the house. She knew that Balinor was just leaving and…

  _Merlin! Where was Merlin?_

 She bolted through the house, calling her son’s name in panic as another bolt of impossibly-close lightning temporarily blinded her. She prayed he was inside…but her instincts told her otherwise. Hunith shoved open the screen door and skidded to a halt at the edge of the porch.

 The sight that greeted her left Hunith both awed and terrified.

 There, in the middle of her front yard, stood little Merlin in the eye of a miniature tornado, it’s tail leading up into the massive storm cloud as if feeding his raw power into it. The wind whipped at Merlin’s hair and plucked at his clothes as he screamed again and again. Bolts of white-hot lightning struck the ground as if performing an intricate dance all around him.

 “Merlin!” she shrieked, trying to be heard over the deafening claps of thunder shaking through the house over and over.

 Hunith leapt off the porch, getting as close to the funnel as she dared and yelled her son’s name again. Merlin didn’t acknowledge her even though he seemed to be looking right at her. It was almost as if he was in a trance…or was so distraught as to be outside of himself. Her eyes followed the column of twisting air up into the sky. Directly overhead, the clouds glowed an eerie greyish-green.

 Mother’s instinct told Hunith that she needed to act quickly or else she would lose her son to the storm. Thinking only of Merlin’s safety, Hunith ducked her head, threaded her way between the white hot branches of light, and barreled through the twisting column of wind to reach her son. Her momentum knocked Merlin to the ground under her as she curled her body around his to shield him from the elements.

 For just a moment, Merlin lay immobile as if he was still in the storm’s thrall…and then he took a deep hitching gasp of breath. The teacup-sized tempest surrounding them dissipated into nothing, almost as if it had never existed.

 A small shaking body pressed against Hunith’s, and two thin arms snaked around her neck. “Mummy…” Merlin sobbed, tucking his head against her shoulder, “Mummy…”

 “Merlin,” she cried, kissing the temple pressed under her lips. “It’s all right. You’re okay.”

 Hunith sat up and Merlin clung to her like he would never let go. Pushing herself to a standing position, she whispered in his ear, “Come on, sweetie…let’s get you inside and dried off.”

 As she carried Merlin toward the house, he wailed, teeth chattering, “He left Mummy…Daddy left us…”

 “Yes, Merlin,” Hunith agreed calmly, rubbing soothing circles on the boy’s back. “He had to. That’s his job; he saves people from the storms.”

 “But…but…he left  _me_ , Mummy,” Merlin panted, tears rolling down his cheeks anew. “He left me behind when he pwomised…”

 “He wanted to keep you safe,” Hunith explained as she pulled open the screen door. “You can go with him next time, honey.”

 

<><><>

 

There wouldn’t be a next time.

 After the close call with the storm, Hunith had given Merlin a hot bath, dressed him in his flannel pajamas and made him some hot chocolate…but still he could not get warm. He shivered underneath his favorite afghan and his teeth chattered as his eyes glowed feverishly. As the day went on, Merlin’s energy level seemed to droop more and more, and Hunith—fearing her son had caught himself a cold from the wind and rain—tucked him into bed just after suppertime.

 But, despite being put to bed hours before, Merlin could not sleep. Even though he was exhausted, there was also a sort of nervous jangling inside him that kept him awake. He sat on the floor underneath the window in his room, still in his pajamas, blankets draped over his shoulders, his arms wrapped protectively around his knees. Cradled between both hands was the little battery-powered weather radio his father had bought for his last birthday.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, thunder shaking the house as the lightning flashed blue-white every few seconds. But even so, the most violent part of the storm had moved beyond Ealdor now. Merlin didn’t need the radio to tell him that; he could  _feel_ it like a gnawing ache inside of him.

Instead of losing its punch once the sun went down, the storm’s power had grown exponentially as the night went on, unleashing several twisters, each more powerful than the last.

The most recent tornado spawned was one of the strongest ever recorded…and according to the weather men, it was headed straight toward a town just over the border in Missouri: Camelot.

His father was the only thing standing between Camelot and a direct hit.

Merlin was clutching the radio so tightly that his knuckles were white. Closing his eyes and opening his mind, he could see the funnel, even against the black of night; a cavernous maw of destruction just barely being held in check. A lone man stood—as if in a showdown at high noon—facing down the storm; both of his arms stretched out taut in front of him and both fists clenched so tightly that they shook with the effort.

Sweat was running down the sides of his father’s face, and Merlin could feel the heavy weight of exhaustion plaguing him as if was his own body, and yet, the stubborn tang of determination still radiated from every fibre of his father’s being as if to say that if the storm wanted Camelot, it would have to go through  _him_ first.

But, the storm was winning. Slowly, the howling, shrieking wind pushed closer and closer, pulling and gripping at his father’s clothes as if to rip them right off.

“No, you don’t,” Balinor growled as his eyes flashed bright gold. “You can’t have it; I won’t let you!”

And then suddenly, his father’s arms pressed upward rather than out toward the storm and a golden dome appeared all around him. His eyes were closed in concentration and his lips were moving as if he was incanting several spells…or perhaps just the  _same_ spell over and over. The glowing cocoon pulsed, as if reflecting his father’s heartbeats, while the funnel greedily churned up the ground, heading right for him.

The storm was pulsing, too…a mad, delirious thrum that tattooed itself against the inside of Merlin’s skull. Petrified, he sucked in a deep breath and bit his lip so hard that he drew blood. It was as if the storm had grown roots inside Merlin and was using his power to fuel itself without his permission…and he had no idea how to make it let go.

The little radio clattered to the floor as Merlin’s hands reached up to his head and gripped two large handfuls of ebony locks. Terrified, Merlin tugged at his hair again and again, as if the motion itself could dislodge the storm’s hold on him. “Get out…Get out…Get out!” he panted, tears leaking from his eyes as his tiny body writhed against the wide wooden planks of his bedroom floor.

As Merlin fought his own struggle with the wayward storm, he could still see his father with his mind’s eye. The tornado was nearly upon him, and his facial expression was fierce. He had one hand pulled back as if to release a pulse of power into the funnel when he came up short. Eyes widening, he gasped, “Merlin!?”

Merlin’s jaw was locked tightly shut; his teeth ground together with the effort of trying to dislodge himself from the storm. But he thought as loudly as he could,  _“Daddy! Daddy! Help me, Daddy! It’s got me; I don’t know what to do!”_

His father’s mouth gaped open in shock and he shook his head vehemently as if in denial. Balinor’s eyes closed for a long moment, and when they opened, his shoulders visibly drooped as if in defeat. He stared a long moment into the twisting column of air and then pursed his lips into a thin line.

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Merlin heard his father’s voice in his ears as if he were standing right beside him. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll help you.”

Bile rose in Merlin’s throat; he felt battered and beaten, like a flag snapping in the wind, but on the inside. _“Make it go away, Daddy…please make it stop!”_

“Shhh…” the voice soothed, “It’s all right, Merlin. I’ve got you.”

His father’s eyes were glued to the funnel just yards away, but his thoughts called out urgently, “Merlin, listen to me. I need you to stop fighting the storm. You need to let go of it.”

“No, no!” Merlin thought, his body still twitching and writhing on the floor, “I can’t! It’ll take me…it will take me away from you!”

“It won’t.  _I won’t let it,_ ” Balinor vowed. “Trust me.”

Although he was terrified, Merlin nodded. He unclasped his cramped hands from his hair and let out the breath he’d held for much too long. He felt himself relax, but simultaneously, the roaring in his ears grew exponentially louder.  _“Daddy!?”_ he pleaded inside his head as his lips mouthed the word.

But even with his ears ringing from the howling wind, his father’s voice found him. “I’m going to push you out of the storm, Merlin. You’ll be all right; you’ll be safe.” His father repeated the last part again, almost as if to convince himself it was true.

The storm towered over his father now, stared down upon him like a ravenous beast, but instead of focusing on it, Balinor lifted his head, and it was as if his father was looking right at him. He could see every laugh line, every wrinkle, the glint of magic in his father’s warm brown eyes. “Goodbye, Merlin…” his father’s beloved voice nearly drowned out completely by the wailing wind buffeting his brain, “…I love you, Son.” And then, Balinor lifted his hands palms out…and  _pushed._

Merlin’s body was suddenly and forcefully propelled across the bedroom floor. The wooden planks bumped and slid across his back as splinters caught in the cotton flannel of his pajama top. After a few breathless moments, Merlin skidded to a stop against the side of his dresser.

Merlin scrambled to his hands and knees; the crushing pressure and deafening wail of the wind was gone. Sucking in a deep breath, he slammed his eyes shut, throwing his consciousness back out to find his father’s again…out…out…

Nothing.

Even at his tender age, Merlin knew what that meant: his father was gone.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Merlin keened, his face going ashen as he wrapped his arms around his body and rocked to and fro over and over. His voice rose louder and louder as he sobbed hysterically, “Daddy! No!  _Nooooo!_ ”

<><><> 

It had taken hours for Hunith to calm Merlin down enough for him to be able to tell her in halting, sniffling, hiccupping words what had happened. And when he was done, she’d held him until he cried himself to sleep, her own silent tears making warm, wet, almost soothing tracks in his hair.

He’d not said one word since.

When Merlin had awoken the next morning, bone-tired and swamped with guilt, he’d slipped out from his mother’s embrace, slid off the bed where she still slept, grabbed his afghan and his radio, and headed downstairs.

He couldn’t bear to go into the kitchen ( _“And how is my whirling dervish today?”_ ), so Merlin dragged himself into the formal dining room and crawled under the table instead. The tablecloth hung down so low that it almost completely blocked out the outside world. It almost felt like a cage, Merlin thought grimly as he wrapped himself in the blanket and clutched at his radio in the semi-darkness. It felt fitting, like he deserved it: he  _should_ be locked up for killing his daddy.

Merlin didn’t know how long it was before his mother’s shrill, panicked voice called out for him. A part of him knew he should answer her, to take away her obvious fear, but his lips just wouldn’t move and his tongue felt like a stone in his mouth. Over and over, he heard his name as Hunith ran from room to room, but he just hunched further into himself and shook in silent grief.

Finally, he sensed a presence and a split second later, light flooded his refuge as Hunith got down on hands and knees, lifted the tablecloth, and peered inside. “Merlin!” she cried, her voice thick with relief and unshed tears. “ _There_ you are! Why didn’t you answer me, honey?”

Merlin didn’t answer; instead he buried his face into the blanket covering his bent knees, as if making himself into an even tighter ball would help him to avoid detection.

“Merlin…” Hunith soothed, reaching her arm out in an effort to pet his hair. At the first touch, Merlin startled and pushed with his feet to propel his bottom further under the table away from her.  _He didn’t deserve her comfort. He’d killed his daddy…took the man she loved away from her…_

Hunith didn’t push. Instead, she sighed wearily as if she understood. “It’s not your fault, dearest,” she soothed, trying to reach her son with just her words. “It’s ours. We should have had you tested, we should have known…”

His mother paused for a long moment.

“You shouldn’t have been able to do what you did at your age,” she continued. “No Wind Mage has <i>ever</i> grown into their talent this young. And all this time, you’ve had this much power inside of you. How can you blame yourself when no one taught you what to do with it or how to control it?”

_He was a freak, then. A freak who killed people with his magic…_

Hunith let out a long, mournful sigh and rubbed a weary hand across her eyes to dry the wetness threatening to fall.

“Merlin…please come out.”

But he couldn’t; he couldn’t move, because if he moved, he would think ( _”Don’t be afraid. I’ll help you.”_ ), and he didn’t  _dare_ think ( _”Trust me.”_ ), because if he did( _Goodbye, Merlin…_ ), he might never stop ( _”…I love you, Son.”_ ).

“It wasn’t your fault.”

_But it **was**. It was._

“You are not to blame.”

But no matter how many times his mother said it; Merlin knew in his heart it would never be true. 

After a long, strained moment, the darkness reclaimed Merlin’s little world again, and when he finally looked up, his mother was gone.

<><><>

Fat tears leaked out from between Merlin’s tightly closed eyelids.  _No, Mummy…please don’t!_ He recognized the smell wafting in from the kitchen, and it made his stomach turn.  _You can’t, Mummy! Please_! But the torture didn’t stop, and Merlin thought that maybe it was fitting after all. He didn’t  _deserve_ for it to stop.

Footsteps padded closer to the table. “Merlin, it’s time for breakfast, sweetie,” Hunith called softly. When a long silence followed her statement, she sighed and came closer. Merlin could see her slippers stop just next to his left elbow. Her gentle fingers tugged up the cloth shielding him from view and slid a plate in front of him. Bacon and eggs. His father’s favorite.

“Come on, honey…” Hunith coaxed softly. “It’s your favorite…”

On a hitching gasp, Merlin pushed the plate back out from under the table with his foot. He couldn’t even stand to  _look_ at it, let alone eat it.

“Merlin…” Hunith scolded softly, shoving the plate back under. “You need to eat.”

Merlin pushed it back out again. He held his breath, waiting…afraid his mother would get angry, but yet, relishing the thought.  _She should be angry, she should yell at me…I’m a bad boy._

But Hunith didn’t yell. Instead, Merlin saw just the tips of her fingers as she picked up the plate and wordlessly carried it back to the kitchen.

Moments later, his mother returned with a bowl of cold cereal. Astounded but grateful that she understood, Merlin pulled the food toward him and ate.

<><><>

Despite his mother’s best efforts to coax him out, Merlin refused to leave his sanctuary under the table all day. It wasn’t until he finally fell asleep, miserably huddled under his afghan, that she was able to take him out and tuck him into his warm bed.

But Merlin didn’t stay sleep for long. He kept waking up to the sound of his own screaming as he dreamed of his father getting sucked up by a funnel cloud again and again. He barely even registered his mother’s presence beside him, he was so distraught.

The next morning was a carbon copy of the last. Merlin slid out from his mother’s embrace in the soft light of dawn and dragged his blanket down the stairs with one white-knuckled hand, while his radio was clenched in the other.

As he clambered under the table to the relative safety of his dark space, Merlin prayed that a twister would come and take him away, too.

<><><>

Merlin’s life became nothing more than a surreal haze of grief and pain.

He barely slept or ate and would not come out from under the table of his own volition. He wouldn’t change his clothes or play with his toys. He didn’t want anyone to talk to him, or even  _look_ at him. He just wanted to sink into the floor, to cease to exist. Maybe then it wouldn’t hurt so much just to breathe.

It hadn’t been until almost dinnertime the second day when the county sheriff came to tell them what they already knew: Balinor Emrys was dead. But the policeman had also relayed information they didn’t know: the storm that Balinor had died trying to stop had indeed hit Camelot ( _his fault_ )…but his last efforts had pushed the twister off course enough so that the city only took a glancing blow. While it was clear from the news reports that the National Weather Service considered Project Vortex a complete failure, the opinions of those that lived locally were much the opposite. There had still been casualties, but there had been much fewer than there would have been if the storm had followed its original course. To the locals, at least, Merlin’s father was a hero.

To Merlin, though, it was a very small comfort.  _What good was it to have a hero for a dad if he could never come back?_

_Besides, it was his fault,_ Merlin thought, tucking his head into his knees, in his usual place beneath the dining room table, which was where he’d spent all of his waking hours since that first day.  _All of those people…dead. And it was because of him. If he hadn’t fed the storm, made it hungry and mean, then it wouldn’t have wanted to hurt people, and maybe then he wouldn’t have gotten stuck in it. Maybe then his daddy wouldn’t have had to save him and could have stopped the storm instead._

Another bout of hot tears coursed down Merlin’s face from his bloodshot eyes. He hid his face against his knees, shivering as the salty tears sank into the now-filthy flannel that covered his legs.

<><><>

“Merlin, you need to come out,” Hunith had finally insisted three days later.

As usual, silence greeted her statement. But instead of walking away, this time she sat and flipped the tablecloth up and out of the way so she could see her shivering, miserable son.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You barely eat or sleep and you haven’t said a word to anyone in days.”

_I'm a bad boy,_ the loop playing in Merlin’s head insisted.  _I deserve this…_

“I’ve tried to let you grieve in your own way, but I can’t. Not anymore. Not when I see you wasting away in front of me, Merlin.”

Hunith scooted herself forward, invading Merlin’s space, and then pulled the tablecloth back down so it surrounded the both of them in comforting darkness.

“I’m not going to let you shut me out.”

_But you should; you should. I only hurt people. I hurt people I love…_

“I’ve already lost my husband to this storm; I refuse to lose my son, too,” she insisted vehemently.

She slid back until her thigh was touching Merlin’s and then put a tentative hand across his shoulders. He desperately wanted the comfort, craved it in fact, but he tried to stay strong.  _You shouldn’t love me…you shouldn’t comfort me…I’m a monster…_ Merlin wanted to say, but didn’t have the strength to do it. The best he could do was not move at all, not react to it.

Slowly, carefully, Hunith turned Merlin’s body so that he was tucked up against her side. Gently trailing one hand down the side of his face, she whispered, “Come back to me, Merlin, my darling baby. I love you.”

Hearing those words from his mother when she, of all people, should hate him, broke down the dam that held Merlin’s emotions back. He burst into tears and, clutching at her shirt, wailed, “No…no, you can’t! I’m bad, Mummy; I’m a very bad boy!”

Hunith clutched her son close to her chest and petted his hair. “You are  _not_ bad, Merlin. It’s just that a bad thing you couldn’t control happened  _to_ you. But it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Merlin’s tiny hands unclenched from the material of Hunith’s blouse and slid around her neck as she pulled him into her lap.

Placing a soft kiss against her son’s temple, she tried to reassure him. “Don’t worry, Merlin; it will be all right. Now that we know your Mage powers have awakened, we’ll find someone good and kind to train you. You won’t have to be afraid of your powers anymore. And one day you’ll be just as good at controlling the storms as your father was; maybe even better.”

Merlin buried his face in his mother’s neck, deeply inhaling her soothing scent. His mummy meant well, he knew…but she hadn’t been there, she didn’t  _know_. His kind of magic wasn’t safe; it was dangerous…or at least  _he_ was dangerous when he used it. His daddy died because of it…and those other people had died because his daddy wasn’t there to save them.

_No,_ Merlin decided right then and there. He would never again risk putting people he loved in harm’s way. While he fully intended to follow in his father’s footsteps one day; he was going to do it his way: without his magic.


End file.
